Reviewing Severus Snape
by aimoon
Summary: Severus Snape finds that student reviews of his teaching leave something to be desired. This leads to other problems with desire. Adult Hermione. SSHG. EWE? WIP. No acronyms in the actual story. That last sentence a lie B.T.W
1. Chapter 1

AN: I received my first negative (as is very, very bad) student review last semester and it made me think how poor Snape would fair with such things. No betas, let me know when you catch a mistake if you are so inclined. Hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer: I own some brand-new, big fluffy towels that I like very much. I do not own Harry Potter. No sue.

* * *

"Please sit down Severus."

Minerva indicated a chair in front of her desk, probably the same one used by snot-nosed homesick first years. Gryffindor and Hufflepuff bodily fluids were sure to be all over it. Regardless, I had little choice in that office, so I sat, but delicately.

"You may remember last year at end of term when you were asked to leave your classroom for a few minutes each period?"

Yes, I remembered. Completely ruined the whole week's schedule. What was the point of nagging me to make "lesson plans" if she was going to bugger them at a moment's notice?

"I am fully capable of remembering even the minutest of details from years ago, _Headmistress_. Remembering your pointless disruption of my lessons is not a difficult task. "

Her glare indicated that I'd probably gone too far, she hated being called Headmistress. Pissing her off wasn't helping her get to the point in any case.

"What did you need from me?" There, a little reminder that I knew she was in charge and hopefully she'd move on.

Instead she primly handed me a large packet stuffed with parchments that had been part of a stack of such on her desk.

"What is this?"

"Those are 'student reviews', Severus."

"I already submitted their marks for this past year weeks ago. I do not want or need them back."

"No, you've misunderstood. Those are reviews that the students have written to evaluate your teaching."

I can feel my eyes blink slowly. Hell, I can feel _time_ slow down.

I must control my anger. I must not scream at the only person willing to give me a job. I must not make murdering my employers a habit.

"What in Merlin's bloody name are you talking about, woman? You're telling me you've asked students, the same idiots that wander about this school each term like lobotomy patients, to evaluate _me_? You think pubescent children are qualified to review the education they have received? Have you lost your mind?"

Shit. Note to self: work _harder _on controlling anger.

"Severus Snape, speak to me like that again and we'll see who loses what. These reviews are for you, and every other professor in the school, to use to improve yourself. You are not the gods' gift to teaching. In fact, I have no qualms in telling you now that your reviews were the absolute worst in the entire school."

No surprise there. Wait, even worse than... ?

"Even worse than Trelawney."

Bugger.

"You can not honestly believe that students are objective in this? Certainly they learn more in Potions than they do Divination? This is simply a popularity contest, and frankly, one we both know I do not have the ability nor inclination to even compete in."

The tiniest flash of sympathy crossed Minerva's face, but it was gone before I could use it.

"Just read the reviews, Severus. I'll need a report from you in a week on what you plan to do to improve your teaching."

Oh this was just too much. Reading the blather was enough, but making extra work for me about my teaching standards? I never thought I'd miss Dumbledore. The steely look in her eyes told me it was useless trying to protest now though. I'd just have to bid my time to enact a quiet revenge.

One of the greatest benefits of the summer is the total lack of students. This is also one of the worst bits as well, because there is no one onto which to vent frustrations. This meant that jars of wobbly things on my office bookshelf bore the full brunt of my anger. Watching the glass shatter was satisfying, but the wobblies just wobblied pathetically. They made me think of Longbottom and his dreadfully wobbly face. I can't imagine what the dimwit would have written on a review had he been given the chance as a student. That is, assusming he could stop wobbling long enough to write something down.

Time for a plan. I'd make a list of all my students names and then write their comments next to the names. It would be most helpful in deciding who to "help facilitate better learning" with. Detentions were a terrific learning experience, you couldn't help learning something from a near-death experience in the forbidden forest. Hopefully you learned not to be a bother to me again.

Opening the packet put paid to that plan. That cow Minerva. There were no names on the forms at all. Even the student's handwriting had been magically changed to a uniform, nondescript script. Unless I could recognize their writing style itself, there would be no way to tell which student had written what.

This was going to be nasty. Better to get it over with quickly. I picked up the first couple of parchments. The form was divided into sections. Under the section titled, "Things my professor did to improve my learning" there was a whole lot of squat. The section named, "Additional Comments/ Suggestions" contained a majority of the responses. I skimmed through the first few.

_As a first year, I thought Professor Snape was He-Who-Can-Not-Be-Named because I couldn't imagine anyone scarier. Or uglier._

_Screw potions. I can buy the ones I need. _

_He is a sufficient instructor, for a half-blood._

_I have contemplated drinking a potion I knew was poisonously wrong rather than have to turn it in to this professor. I have also fantasized about force feeding him those very same potions._

_The only time I learned anything in this class was when I read the textbook. At least it doesn't try to make me feel worthless. _

_I started praying on the slim hope that something would smite this bastard for me. Professor Snape's continual survival is turning me into an atheist. _

_Ugh. Like, Professor Snape needs to really wash his hair. And his face. And he could really do with wearing something other than all the black. He's a real loser._

_This class would be a lot better if Snape did the complete opposite of everything he does now._

_If someone told me that Professor Snape used the blood of kittens to mark my essays, I would not even think to doubt it. Seriously, where does he get all of the red "ink" he uses. There's no way the school budget could afford that much real red ink. _

_I hate the git. Worst teacher ever. EVER!  
_

_I am afraid to fill out this form since I am fairly certain that Professor Snape can read minds._

That one at least was satisfying. It was good to know I was doing something right. Most of these were the expected and immature rants of precious snowflakes that were upset I didn't bloody well wipe their arses for them and tuck them into bed. Minerva thought I could learn something from this? Ha.

Only over three hundred left to go.

Three hours later and I had sorted more than half of all the reviews into piles such as: "Imbecile/Hufflepuff", "Swot/Ravenclaw", "Pompous Ass/Slytherin" and "Arrogant Toe-rag/Gryffindor". They were all overwhelmingly negative. I had gotten no truly positive reviews.

What did I expect? I make no apologies about my teaching style. Someone has to show them what life is really like. Hand-holding won't do them any good once they've been thrown into the real world where no one cares that you could name every goblin war in alphabetical order. I was doing the little bleeders a favor. I was rendering them a gods-damned service, I was.

It just might be nice if they'd recognize that.

No. The moment I start to worry about what snot-nosed, whinging brats think of me is the moment I stop being Severus Snape. If they couldn't see what I was doing was best for them then that was their own problem.

I looked at the pile of still to read reviews. A whole stack of complaints.

Screw this. I needed a drink.

Contrary to what I'm sure most people thought, I did not keep cabinets full of liqueur in my rooms. I didn't need to make it easier for me to become more like my sorry excuse of a father. Having to travel down to the Three Broomsticks or the Hog's Head kept me from making too frequent trips to the bottom of a bottle. Part of me did not want to go now, since it meant a strong possibility of running into the other professors that made a summer habit of spending every night at the pub. Still, being scorned by Pomona and Vector while shit-faced would be better than reading more insults to my hygiene from students while sober.

It was a fifty-fifty shot that I'd pick the pub that was not attended by my esteemed colleges. I could just poke my head into the Three Broomsticks and if I saw Rolanda dancing on a table I could discreetly exit and walk the extra bit to the Hogs Head. Perfect plan.

Ah, yes Rolanda was using a chair to climb up just that moment. Time to leave.

"Severus!"

Damn it!

_Her_. She was waving her damn arm around like everyone in the gods-damned bar didn't already hear her shout. Waving franticly like she was trying to fling her hand off her damn arm. She did this all the time now. Talking to me like we were old chums or some such rubbish at meals. Sitting next to me at Quidditch games. Trying to _include_ me in the group.

Couldn't she see the group didn't want me? As the ridiculous girl ran up to me, I could see them all glancing at each other with the annoyed look I had come to describe in my head as, "oh, _him_". I was trying to dash back out of the door when she caught up to me.

I tried not to stare at the mess that was her hair. If she was going to run, she should tie that bit of wilderness down first.

"Come have drinks with us! We're commiserating together over our reviews. You've gotten yours haven't you?"

Why was she smiling? I wasn't smiling. My hand was still on the door handle. I did not want to sit at a table with people who hated me while they talked about the "poor reviews" they had gotten while I knew that mine where only worse. I especially did not want to do this while having her smile at me.

"Let him be Hermione! He likes to weep into his pint by himself." This bit of cleverness was followed by a cacophony of cackles.

Oh gods. Now the girl was searching my face as if I was going to burst into tears in front of her. I could tell what she was thinking. Did this poor, ugly bastard cry himself to sleep at night and drown his sorrows alone? All Potter's fault. If he had kept his mouth shut, then no one would be giving me soppy looks just for trying to have a drink by myself.

I could even see her arm spasm as a half-formed intention to comfort me was stopped by her higher-levels of reasoning. Unless I wanted to continue to be the next S.P.E.W. I'd have to do something to nip this pity business in the bud. My hand came off the door handle.

"I could stay for a few minutes. As long as you get Rolanda to agree to stop table dancing."

She did not just giggle. Did she?

"Oh, there's not much worry of that, Rosemerta can usually get her down by suggestively waving a few notes at her. You see, there was a bit of a misunderstanding between Rolanda and an eager, older man a month or so ago."

That was not an image I wanted in my head. Time to drink that away.

Some one was laughing. Was it me?

No. I don't laugh. It was her. Sitting next to me, laughing at the stupid review Vector had just read.

Gods she smelled good.

How many mugs were in front of me? Seven? Eight? What came after eight?

I'm not drunk. No. If I were drunk then I would be thinking about how nice it is when she smiles at me.

So bloody fantastic a smile.

Not drunk at all.

"You think that's bad? Listen to this!"

Who was talking so loud? Oh, me. I'm taking. Why am I doing that?

"Professor Snape is so greasy that I could scrape his cheeks for petrol!"

Ha! Now I was laughing and every one else was too. Except her.

"Laugh, it's funny you swotty girl."

Why did I keep talking?

Ah, bloody fantastic glare too.

Shit. I need to leave.

I left too much money on the table and made a reasonable impression of walking in a straight line to the door. I didn't hear her following me till I was outside and had given up trying to impress anyone with my straight line walking skills.

"You're drunk."

"Not drunk."

Stupid road was just wobbly.

She came up beside me. Had I known which way up really was at that moment I would have jumped in that direction when she put her arm around my waist. I tried glaring at her, but I'm fairly certain it didn't work. She remained stuck to my person.

"I'm going to walk you back to your rooms. You're worse off than Minerva was after the last day of school."

"My rooms? Trying to take advantage of me?"

Shit. Who keeps using my mouth?

I could feel her stiffen and pull slightly away. Ah, now there's not so much pity for the ugly drunk.

"You're drunk, so I'm going to ignore that."

"Good. And I'm going to ignore that you smell so good."

Seriously? Now see what you did! She's pulling away. Good job face. Way to go mouth.

"You're going to regret saying all this in the morning."

Yes, but 'in for a penny in for pound'. I leaned in. My mouth was moving towards her unbelieving face and suddenly I didn't hate my mouth so much.

Leaning is hard. Which is perhaps why I leaned face first into the ground instead of into Hermione.

Then there was just blackness.

* * *

So I lied, S.P.E.W. was in there.

Thanks for reading! This is a WIP, and I will try to hurry for the next bit. My students will be upset if I don't take care of their finals first though.


	2. Chapter duex

AN: I'm am sorry for this stupidly late update. Some real life fell out of the sky and made all kinds of mess when it landed on me. Hope you like. I'm starting on the next chapter right now, which will probably mean staring at a blank screen for a while until I start playing tetris. Oh, and if you'd been wondering I have not purchased the rights to Harry Potter since the last disclaimer was written. Tell the lawyers to back off.

* * *

I woke up suddenly and knew that I was not in my own bed. The dungeons did not have sunlight and I have never owned a pillow this comfortable in my life.

I kept my eyes shut and willed myself to breath evenly, trying to ignore the spinning feeling in my head. Alerting the owner of the bed that I was awake could be a very bad idea indeed.

I was not in my own robes and I could not feel my wand. I did not seemed to be bound in any way other than being "tucked-in" which was perhaps even more disturbing than if I had been gaged.

How in the hell did I get here? Where was here?

The last thing I could remember was reading student reviews. What had happened to get me from student reviews to wearing almost nothing in a strange bed? And what are the chances that it was going to be something I wouldn't regret immensely?

"Harry and Ron are on their way, Poppy. Has he awoken yet?"

I regretted whatever I'd done already. Gods, I was in the infirmary and Potter was on his way. I wonder if there is a way to kevadra myself without moving?

"No, Minerva. He's still out cold."

Just not cold enough.

"Oh, that's too bad. Perhaps he'll come around in time to give Harry some indication of who might have done this to him? I'll go fetch Hermione since Harry will mostly likely need to speak with her as well."

Oh, I see. Can't figure out what happened to myself by myself. Must call in Saint-bloody-fucking-Auror Potter to save the day. I suppose if I ask very nicely -with the proper level of groveling- that I can I lick his boots? Perhaps just the hallowed ground he walks on?

Tosser.

Minerva had gone to fetch Granger. Hmm. That was a real puzzle. I could not imagine what Granger would have to do with my lying here unless she'd finally snapped and taken me out herself. On deeper thought, there were two things wrong with that supposition. One, she couldn't lay me out even if she had taken Felix Felicis and used the Elder Wand while I was tied to a nest of flobberworms. I do have some ability, you know. Two, Minerva had already indicated that they didn't know who had done this, but that Granger could help. Knowing her, Granger was involved in this in some noble, and heroic way.

Which only made suicide that much more appealing.

Poppy came over to my bed, perhaps knowing of my intentions, and ran some usual tests. I think it speaks highly of my self control that I did not flinch when she touched my left wrist to take a pulse. I'm not sure what it says about her that she _did_ flinch when she pushed the sleeve up farther. Perhaps she'd forgot what was there. I'd like to. She moved to the other arm to draw what felt like a small amount of blood.

She must be testing for poison. Had someone had tried to poison me? Bloody buggering bestiality. I'd never live that down. Not that my reputation could really be much worse, but still. Had someone slipped me something, and I'd failed to catch it? Gods, I felt queasy.

"Professor!"

"Shh! Mr. Potter! He's not awake yet."

"Oh, sorry, Madam Pomfrey. We came as quickly as we could manage. Ron's gone to get Hermione. What happened to him? Your Patronus said Hermione brought him in last night unconscious?"

"Sit down. Here, have some tea. There you are. Hermione can tell you more about what happened last night. But when she brought him in she said that he had fallen to the ground unconscious, and she thought he'd had a bit too much to drink."

I could hear Potter slurping his tea from here. No poisoning? No duel? I just passed out drunk? That was a bit... pathetic. And now Poppy was telling Potter all about it. Bloody fucking wonderful.

"However, Hermione also said he was acting very oddly. Saying very peculiar things, even acting... silly."

"You said he'd been drinking."

"Yes, but Severus Snape is not a happy, silly drunk. Frankly, he's not a happy, silly anything. And I've never known him to pass out, even after quite a bit of alcohol."

"I still don't understand what you're getting at ."

"Someone put GHB into his drink. It would explain his lack of inhibition and sudden unconsciousness."

My surprised reaction was completely overshadowed by Potter spewing his tea out.

"GHB! That stuff that muggles use to ah... Wait, what are you saying?"

Yes, what are you saying Poppy?

"Yes, GHB is a muggle 'date rape drug'. However, I do not believe anyone raped him. Hermione was with him the entire time."

Is that supposed to make me feel better? She always did make me suspicious.

"So you've called Ron and I to find out who slipped him the drug. I will need to speak to him. How is he doing now?"

"As far as I can tell, much improved. The last blood test showed the drug is almost completely gone from his system. However, it may not be much help to you when he does wake-up. One of the side effects is memory loss. I doubt he'll remember anything from last night."

And I don't want to remember anything. All I want to do is vomit. Gods, I am never drinking again.

"Harry!"

"Hermione! Shh! Severus is still asleep."

"Sorry, Poppy! It's so good to see you Harry!"

"It's good to see you too, Hermione. Don't worry, I did the same thing earlier. Where's Ron, didn't he come with you?"

"I haven't seen Ron at all. Minerva sent me down since she thought you might want to speak with me."

"Oh, he must have missed you. He'll be down in a bit then. In the meantime, give me the whole story. Everything you remember from last night that has anything to do with Professor Snape."

"Well, we were all having a pint to cheer up from our reviews when he came into the Three Broomsticks and I -"

"Do you remember about what time?"

"I think about 9 o'clock. There's this older man that shows up about then to enjoy Rolanda's, erm, dancing."

Memory loss had definite advantages.

"Okay... Did the Professor stay at the Three Broomsticks?"

"Yes, after a bit of convincing."

Probably had to pay me. Meddlesome, that's what she was. That I'm here is clearly all her fault.

"And did you see anyone approach him? Buy him any drinks?"

"Erm, no. He was rather good at buying himself drinks."

Insufferable nark.

"Ah. And when did you start to notice his behavior changing?"

"When he laughed."

"Laughed? As in a snigger?"

"No. Harry, he laughed. Real laughter."

Which is when I vomited.

Which completely ruined my cover. Being sick all over the floor is usually a good indication that one is not asleep.

"Oh good. He's awake. Hand me that bin please."

Poppy evanescoed my previous stomach contents and handed me the bin. I'd never been so grateful to see a trash bin before.

"What the bloody hell is Potter doing here?" Best to make it clear that I was really sleeping just now and not eavesdropping at all. Also good to stress that I didn't want Potter around.

"I'm here to help find out who did this to you, sir."

Vomit.

That 'sir' was worse than git ever was.

"Did what? Give me a hang-over? Why am I in the infirmary?"

"Because you're having another side-effect to the GHB." Quipped Poppy with just the tiniest hint of evil satisfaction.

I did not have to fake my look of horror. That someone tried … _that_ was genuinely still horrifying. Poppy needed to work on her bedside manner, in my opinion.

"I think we'll let Professor Snape, uh, wake up. I can finish interviewing Hermione in the hall. I hope you get to feeling better, _sir._"

Vomit. Vomit.

"There, there, just lie back down. On your side, mind."

* * *

Thank you for reading. Ten bonus points to you.


	3. Chapter 3

AN: This is a general warning of two things. First, I don't own Harry Potter since I am not J.K. Rowling in internet disguise, so don't press the lawsuit button on your keyboard. Secondly, I must apologize that I'm not sure that this fic will ever be updated in anything resembling a timely manner. I have a plan for it, it's just taking longer to write than I thought it would.

* * *

I keep a mental hate list. I've had to forcibly forget charms instructions over the years to make room for this list. Pensieves are expensive.

Potter is on this list many times. This afternoon's debacle would soon be added. Potter and Weasley went through the standard Auror's "victim" interview with me while I was trapped in the infirmary.

"_Tell us what you can remember from last night."_

"_Nothing. I have amnesia, remember?"_

"_Oh, right. Sna- erm, Professor Snape. Tell us, can you think of anyone who might have a reason to dislike you?"_

_No, Potter, everyone loves me to pieces. Deatheaters send me Christmas cards from Azkaban. Really, how did you ever become an Auror? _

_I tried to burn a hole into Potter's stupid forehead with my eye-hate. His face did not explode into flames. I was satisfied that he did rub at it a bit. Well, almost satisfied. _

"_Ah, erm, yes, of course. Well, do you know of anyone that you have recently upset a lot more than usual?"_

"_No."_

_Potter and Weasley glanced at one another with identically raised eyebrows. Assholes. _

"_Right. Has anyone seem more interested lately in …erm... spending time with you? Have you received any anonymous letters?"_

"_I wouldn't see anonymous letters. Granger screens the post I receive for curses. Minerva thinks that since Granger is the Charms instructor, she is the only one qualified to do so. I'm not allowed to touch my own post until it's cleared."_

"_Do you really get that much bad post?"_

"_Yes. Are we done?" _

"_Sure. Send us an owl if you remember anything, okay?"_

However, something they had asked did get me thinking. As I made my way down from the infirmary to my rooms I realized that Granger had seemed a lot more interested in me since she had started teaching here. The woman had been asking weekly, -weekly!- if I wanted to join her and the bunch of jolly fat-arses out to Hogsmeade. Even worse she was trying to talk to me at meal times. While I was eating. She probably got that annoying habit from her muggle, dentist parents. Let me ask you a question while you have no way of being able to respond because my bloody fingers are in your mouth. Gods, dentists were morons. Herm- _Granger_ must by connection be moronic too.

Also, it's not like I enjoy her harassment. I like the quiet. She was always fussing about, chattering away about nothing. I mean nothing! Then she has the gall to look offended when I have no idea what to say when she asks a question about the nothing she was talking about.

Ah, speak of the devil. Deviless? Witch, at any rate.

Granger was in my office, rifling through the papers on my desk. She wasn't expecting company and hadn't even heard me come in.

"Just what are you doing in here Granger?"

"Eep!"

And I thought only rodents made that noise. I'd caught her red handed, digging through my … what was it she was looking at?

My reviews. It wasn't enough to give Potter the dirt on whatever I did during my drunken escapades, she had to find tid-bits of failure in my reviews? I felt the heat creep quickly over my neck and face. I suppose it makes sense now. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Granger was up to something, something involving me.

"Fingers, Granger." Her name worked so well with a low growl. And I had just the expression to go with it.

"What?" Her eyes got even rounder, clearly confused by my instructions. Gods, I wanted to smack that look off of her face.

" Remove your fingers from my files before I remove your fingers from you." I threw in another snarl.

"This isn't what it looks like! I was looking for something I had left on your desk by ...erm ...accident."

"Don't lie! You're here to find something titillating that you, Potter and Weasley can chat about. Tsk, tsk, Granger. Still trying so hard to fit in with the boys? Funny though, that you've been here two years and the first time either of them visit is when they have a case. I assume you're desperate enough for their attention that you'd risk your job to break into another professor's office. I can only imagine how disappointed Minerva will be."

I have no idea if any of this was true. Perhaps she is working alone, keeping tabs on the "ex" death-eater for the good of the cause. Or perhaps she was just looking for some amusing reading material.

"That's not... I... I'm sorry, Professor." She ducked and ran through the cramped door that I was still standing in. The air that followed her was full of her smell. English Rose water.

Damn. Why did I notice that? How do I know what she smells like?

Something is terribly wrong here. Had been for months. She'd been slowly and steadily wedging herself into my life, and I had been allowing it. I had let my guard down, been drugged and now found myself being spied on. Foolish. I had to turn this mess around.

Polyjuice is a wonderful thing. Except the taste. Mind that each essence was different, but none of ones I'd ever had were any good. Random, scruffy wizard off the street was particularly vomit-inducing.

Potter and Weasley didn't notice the random, scruffy wizard nursing his pint in at the table next to them at the Three Broomsticks, This almost, but not really, made the rotted meat taste worth it.

I had been using my time wisely the past few days by trying to find out exactly what Potter and Weasley knew about what happened to me or what I might have happened to do to other people.

Instead, I was learning that I should never have babies.

"Blue-green, mate. Blue-green and runny. Bill has no idea what he fed the kid to get that color. "

"Uck. I think I see why Ginny wants to wait to have kids. Nappies must hide the horror."

"Not the horrible smell. You know, I think I can still smell some of it in my clothes."

"How'd it get on your clothes?"

"Harry, I know you've seen some rough stuff, but I don't want to give you the mental image that the explanation would give you. It was just awful."

"And with that, I need another pint, want one?"

"Nah, I'm fine."

The polyjuice was going to run out in about 10 minutes. Potter better come back feeling chatty about work.

9 minutes.

8 minutes.

7 minutes.

What was Potter doing, going to the Hogshead for the beer?

"You talked to Hermione today?" Potter questioned, and I could hear his mug slide across the rough wood of their table as he sat down again.

Gods, talk about my case, damn't. Don't you have to WORK at some point?

"Uh, no, not since she told us about... "

"Her mistake?"

"Yeah, I'm just not sure how to take it. Doesn't it bother you a little that she'd do something like that?"

Dirt on Granger. Hmm, this could be worth it.

"I dunno, Yeah, I guess. She said she just slipped it in without really thinking about the consequences."

I'm sorry, what?

"Yeah, well, now she's gotten herself into this whole mess and I don't know how we're supposed to get her out."

"I don't think it's that big of a deal. She just needs to keep quiet and the whole thing will blow over with no one the wiser."

"What was she thinking? Gods, I just don't understand her when it comes to Snape."

What the hell is going on. _Slipped it in? _Granger, drug me? Is that what they're saying?

No, this is all out of context. There's some other explanation. Had to be.

The rapidly changing pattern of hair on my forearm told me I would not be able to find out whatever the context was. Time to get out of here. Should have brought a hip flask.

The last thing I heard as the door shut behind me was, "You don't think she has a thing for him, do you, Ron?"

* * *

AN: I dunno, do YOU think she has a thing for him? Hope you enjoyed. Thank you very much for reading!

**AN: If you want to update your stories, but when you go to 'edit' them you ge****t **'** Error Type 2** '** f****un, just take the url: **

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**and replace 'property' with 'content' to get this:**

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**This is not my solution, but one I found searching the internet. Hope it helps!**


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